Irrevocable
by lesprita
Summary: She knew it was an inevitability. People like him moved on and others like her... stayed behind. Oneshot. [Crixus/Naevia]


Notes: Post–_Vengeance_ and Pre–_War of the Damned._

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_ Irrevocable_

She knew it was inevitability. As irrevocable as the seasons changing and the sun rising and setting. And yet, the foreboding knowledge didn't prepare her for the acute pain that would embed itself in her chest.

Crixus, the Undefeated Gaul and the recently trusted general of King Spartacus, is starting to grow tired of her. He doesn't say it to her face—no, he would never. He feels too much unwarranted guilt. For that, she is thankful (she wouldn't know how to bare it if the words left his mouth). But something's changed and Naevia knows the separation is coming like a dreaded execution.

It's her fault, she knows. Ashur, the Roman men who took advantage of her, the sexual torture from the mines—it never disappeared from memory. At night, when the sky was at it's darkest, she would break into sweat and awaken with tears in her eyes and heart beating with such intensity and fear that she has to hold her chest just to keep herself from falling apart. The feeling of rough hands and foul breathe against her skin would fade with the dream as she closed her eyes and just _breathed_. Then, after a few moments has passed, she would feel Crixus very awake and very quiet next to her, close enough for her to feel his assurance. Silence would pass before he would open his mouth, his tone concerned and raspy from sleep. "Are you well?"

She would take a few breaths before answering, her smile weak and voice holding back the trembling. "Yes. I'll be fine." It was lie, always. He would know it too and open his arms to her anyway, his smile small and comforting. Giving her the choice her dreams took away from her. She accepted the wordless offer, leaning against his solid body and feeling his thick arms encircle her slim, shivering frame. His coarse hand rubbed her back in soothing circles and his chin rested on the top of her head. That was how she would fall asleep, in comfort and security with her cheek pressed against his naked chest. Only lately... it stopped. When her hair length reached past her collarbone.

He didn't offer her nightly embraces anymore.

Naevia understands. Of course the tender kisses and the caresses aren't enough to satiate a man's primal need. It hurts not giving that to him—like the tip of a sword is slowly plunging it's blade in her bosoms. Back in the ludus, the intimacy was the only gift they can exchange and, now, even _that_ was ripped away. The foundation of their relationship has changed and it's her fault. She can't let go of the past and he is moving forward. It's only right he leaves her behind.

But it still hurts.

Crixus is a stubborn man. Ideas that take hold of his thoughts are not easily moved and the gods themselves would find it pointless to try to sway them. She supposed his determination was what she fell in love with. It's what brought them together and it's what he believed would keep them together still.

At least, in the beginning he had.

She can't leave the memories behind and perhaps he's sick of being reminded of his guilt. She knew his patient and stubborn love would eventually corrode. She really did understand, if he wanted someone else who wasn't as broken. Killing Ashur—chopping the head of the beast—was only a temporary relief and vanquished her feeling of helplessness. But it didn't remove the scars left in the body or mind.

It's one day when Naevia sees Crixus talking to a woman in hushed tones does she realize the knowledge didn't prepare her for the pain, sharp and twisted. The sudden pang of hurt makes her pause to watch them with the bucket of water in hand as the unnatural ache travels to her throat and weakens her arms. The woman had long chestnut hair and a slim body, her face was hidden behind her brown curls. Crixus looked... different. Not unpleasantly so, almost as if he's trying his best to seem harmless. Naevia's mouth is dry like summer winds and she cannot swallow. She returns to her task without a second thought, not looking back and cursing herself. No, him talking to an unfamiliar woman doesn't mean he desires her touch. But the ache doesn't go away. She slows down during the tenure of the morning until midday when Nasir advises her to rest in her tent. She thinks about it, imagining laying on her cot until supper with thoughts of her lover being intimate with a beautiful stranger with chestnut hair. Soft, fair skin against tanned, hard muscles. His mouth against pink, plush ones. His body shaking with pleasure far overdue. She shakes her head and tells him she's alright.

She busies herself with chores and training instead. She stays focused instead, too much to work up an appetite with the exception of a bit of hard bread and water. Tries to forget the growing ache in her belly. Tries to banish terrible thoughts from mind. That night, Crixus returns to their tent, tired, and he looks at her strangely after they share a slow, chaste kiss. "Naevia."

Her eyes flutter open to meet his steady gaze in reply.

"What troubles thoughts?"

He knows her well. _Too_ well. He completes her in so many ways and it will be nothing short of unbearable to watch him walk away, she realizes with sorrow. "It is nothing. I'm tired is all."

He takes her hand in his and smiles that kind, gentle smile meant only for her and she wants to cry because she knows he'll shower someone else with its warmth soon. "Rest. I will be here when you awaken." To seal his promise, he gives her another tender kiss.

Later in the night, when Naevia briskly wakes up from a dream she doesn't quite remember, he's not there. Not there with open arms and words of comfort with his solid, secure arms. It's just her and the coldness and she _remembers _why.

It's her fault he's not here. She pushed him away. Led him into the arms of another and condemning herself to a life of loneliness.

Her tears are warm and silent in the darkness.

~/~/~

Naevia wakes back up again to the sound of her name and the noise of the rebels in the background outside. Rays of sun seeped through the tent. Did she oversleep? Her gaze immediately goes to Crixus, sitting by her side. He looks tired again and... nervous? She blinks. "Crixus? Apologies, I—"

"None needed," he interrupts gently, picking up the plate of assorted fruit as she sits up, stifling a yawn. "The day is ours."

She doesn't move. Doesn't dare hope, believe. "Your meaning is lost to me."

"No one is to bother us with work. The day belongs to _us_." His voice accentuates the 'us' like it's a precious gem. A dull, thud beats where her heart is supposed to be. He lifts a wrapped bundle she didn't notice was there. "I spent...the better part of the previous night to search for gifts that would brighten spirits." He unwraps the gift and lifts—

—a dress. A simple, cerulean dress. The sides had woven, colorful beads. She swallows, staring at her gift. What could she say without sounding like a fool?

Crixus drops his hesitant smile. "You do not find it to your liking?"

"No. _No._ I love it so," she takes it from him and slowly, calmly, skims her fingers past the fabric. Whatever sleep held her was gone and replaced by hope. She smiles, a heavy burden lifted from her shoulders. "It's beautiful."

He sighs. "Hearing such words bring relief to my heart. I had to exchange words with a seamstress for the right dress best suited for you." Her breath hitched, flashing back to previous day. Oh. He must mean... the mature woman with chestnut hair. _Asking for her advice, not her body_. Her face flushed at the misunderstanding.

"As does your gesture of kindness. I was...afraid."

He's quiet now, studying her expression. She continues, smoothing the wrinkles on her new clothes. No turning back. "I feared my reluctance to... make love to you has made you tire of me. Avoid me."

"_Never_." His reply is swift, so _fierce_ and hard, Naevia has to return his gaze. He cups her cheeks with his padded hands, looking into her watery, hazel eyes with that stubborn, passionate irises of his. "I bring you distance to avoid suffocation. I worry," he wipes the tears that run down her face with his thumb, "my touch brings back haunted memories. Being away from you pains me more than any wound from a sword."

"Crixus," she breathes his name like a prayer.

"I once told you are my heart and I would never doubt it's beating again. I ask you do the same for me, Naevia. It will be as it once was."

"It cannot," she whispers, softly. Trembling. "I've felt us change from what we were." That part, at least, wasn't her imagination.

He pauses, considering his response. He must have sensed it as well. But his dark eyes never loses the fire. "Then let us embrace it and forge new beginnings." He hugs her tightly and she's inhales his scent knowing he was _hers _and she was his and neither the gods or the Romans can take that away.

She was wrong. It wasn't change that was an inevitability—but the forging of a stronger bond.

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Author's Note: Review or not, I hope you enjoyed.


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